Deepening the Drift
By Elinor Ann Walker
The lake drops off eight feet out, a shelf.
I told you the drop wasn’t that steep
as if unveiling a secret. The water gets darker
there, from slate to ink, where my words fell
off into lies. Waves lap the sides of my boat where
I rock, alone in all that is lilting. Mist shrouds
the edges then lifts. Fallen log. Three turtles slide
into water like apparitions. Closer, one circle,
then another, surfaces, rings that in their motion
capture stillness. Or all that is below or is not,
the nothing now, or all that listing starboard
that happened from your over-steering. I toss
you over in my mind like a stone falling deeper
where the lake drops off, until you are eight
feet out,
buried in silt.Elinor Ann Walker (she/her) holds a Ph.D. in English from the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, lives near the mountains, and prefers to write outside. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in anthologies and journals including Cherry Tree, Hayden's Ferry Review, Jet Fuel Review, Nimrod, Northwest Review, Plume, and The Southern Review, among others. She has recently completed a full-length manuscript of poetry and is working on two chapbooks. Find her online at elinorannwalker.com.
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I love the imagery and the mysteriousness that builds to the last startling line.